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Xie Lian is letting Hua Cheng lead him through Ghost City’s market, hand in hand, when he catches sight of flowing white robes and freezes, eyes jumping over the area. The only thing there is a well-polished mirror, and Xie Lian realizes belatedly that the robes he saw were his own. His hand twitches, wanting to cover his racing heart, but the hand is currently held by San Lang.
Hua Cheng stops too, looking back at him. “Gege, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, I just thought I saw something,” Xie Lian replies. His voice sounds strange even to himself, so he starts walking again, tugging Hua Cheng forward.
Hua Cheng looks at him seriously, but doesn’t push, just rubs his thumb over the back of Xie Lian’s hand.
Things are better when he keeps moving. Xie Lian answers prayers, helps in the fields, cleans their house even though Hua Cheng has tried to tell him that’s what servants are for.
Xie Lian looks through their cupboards and decides he’ll try making stew again. If he uses chicken instead of beef, it can’t turn into meatballs, so it should be fine. He raises the bucket from the well, nudging his pot into a better position with his foot. Xie Lian’s body goes numb when the water shows him white robes and a familiar face, and he spins, looking around wildly as the bucket topples back into the well.
Bai Wu Xiang is nowhere to be seen, and Xie Lian grips the well’s stone edges until they dig into his hands, waiting for the ringing in his ears to stop. Once his breathing evens out, he claps his face with both hands. “He’s gone ,” Xie Lian tells himself. Xie Lian raises the bucket again, with a grim set to his mouth. He stares hard into the water, until the ripples stop and the jagged edges resolve into a clear picture. “This is my face,” he says sternly, then looks around to make sure nobody was within earshot.
He does manage to keep liquid in his stew this time, so that’s something.
Some days are fine, and he can walk down the street and look over the lake and still look like himself. But it happens often enough that he finds his eyes scanning in front of him, watching for reflective surfaces so he can give himself time to prepare.
Xie Lian picks up his outer robe, and pauses before closing it, looking down at himself dressed in the same clothes he’s worn for years. Something between an instinct and a whim moves him to put it back, and he finds himself shyly looking through Hua Cheng’s closet until he pulls out a relatively plain tunic.
Hua Cheng’s clothes are too big for him, of course, so even though it’s not open in the front, Xie Lian still gathers in the spare fabric and secures it with his sash. The result looks a little strange, but he doesn’t need to go anywhere today, and the strange tension he’d felt eases while he examines his red-and-white figure.
He doesn’t mean to lie when Hua Cheng comments on it, but the words “it got dirty” are out of his mouth before he can even consider explaining.
He can’t do this too often or Hua Cheng will catch on and start worrying, but it works. He doesn’t startle himself once while wearing Hua Cheng’s clothes.
White cloth flutters at the corner of his vision, and Xie Lian’s heart squeezes. There's a sharp pain in his hand, and he stares dumbly at the blood running over his fingers, trailing down towards the scar where Bai Wu Xiang pierced his wrist. Scarred - the wound is healed, marking time past. Xie Lian focuses his gaze on it, fixing himself in the present.
When his heart finally settles, he looks at the shattered window and sighs. He'll have to tell Hua Cheng. He's no glassmaker to cover something like this up. Nor, he reminds himself, should he. If it was something that was bothering Hua Cheng, Xie Lian would want to know so he could support him, and Xie Lian should give him the same trust.
Xie Lian is bandaging his hand when San Lang returns. It doesn't hurt anymore, but there's no use bleeding on San Lang's nice carpet. He feels the familiar presence stop at the doorway, and automatically looks up with a smile, even though it's paper-thin.
"Gege, you're hurt!" Hua Cheng rushes over to him, gently but firmly taking his hand to examine it. "What happened?"
Xie Lian takes a moment to selfishly soak up the comfort of Hua Cheng's touch, an anchor keeping him in his skin. "San Lang, sorry, I broke your window."
He waves off the property damage like Xie Lian knew he would. "It's fine, but is gege okay?"
Even though it has to be said, it's still hard to force the words "Not really," out of his lips. Even though he’s decided to tell Hua Cheng what happened, what comes out next is, "Could I borrow a robe again?"
"Of course, gege," Hua Cheng tells him. He's finished checking Xie Lian's injury, but is still holding his hand as he looks intently at Xie Lian's face, eye bright with concern.
Xie Lian tries again. "It's silly but. It's, my reflection, I look like him," he explains. Then corrects himself, "He looked like me."
There's no need to specify who he means. Hua Cheng's hand leaves his to cup Xie Lian's face. "It's not silly," he says emphatically, his hand tightening on Xie Lian's. "You went through a lot, anyone would be affected."
Xie Lian hums. He knows Hua Cheng is right, but, he's not anyone. Xie Lian used to think he didn’t have any pride left, but could someone so used to misery that he could starve a Venerable of Empty words really be scared of his own reflection?
He doesn't have time to dwell on it too much before Hua Cheng shepherds Xie Lian to his closet.
They pick out a robe for him together, and with a few touches Hua Cheng transforms it to fit like it was made for him. The mood still feels fragile, but Xie Lian catches a satisfied look in Hua Cheng’s eye that means he might not be able to keep arguing his way out of the new, custom-tailored wardrobe Hua Cheng has occasionally offered him.
“Thank you for telling me,” Hua Cheng says, pressing a light kiss against Xie Lian’s hair. "Can I do anything else for you, gege?"
"Can you just, talk to me?" Xie Lian asks. He's wrapped in Hua Cheng's colors, sitting in Hua Cheng’s lap, not sure what to do next. The evening has left him drained, but he doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't know where he'll go in his dreams. "Tell me about your day, anything. I just want to hear your voice." Just don't leave me to my thoughts.
Hua Cheng tells him stories about the gambling hall, and the preparations for an upcoming holiday, and how the ghosts keep asking about their “granduncle”. Xie Lian leans against him to feel the words rumble through his chest, and before too long he’s yawning despite himself.
When he wakes up, the red robe he was wearing is washed and folded. Two more robes in his usual style are underneath, one pale green and one a dark grey-blue, also perfectly fitted. Xie Lian smiles at Hua Cheng’s thoughtfulness, but it’s a bittersweet gift, and guilt tugs at him for not being able to fully appreciate it.
It really does help. He doesn’t startle himself anymore, and as time passes he stops having to brace himself for his own appearance, doesn’t have to be as watchful in unfamiliar places. Even outside of that, laughter comes a little easier now.
Still, Hua Cheng finds him one day with his old robe in his lap, fingers playing with the folds of the fabric. “Gege?”
Xie Lian smiles up at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “San Lang,” he says, buying time to gather his feelings into words. “Sorry, the new clothes you got me are much better, thank you, but I...” Xie Lian trails off, blinking rapidly against the tears that are building up.
Hua Cheng runs a gentle hand through Xie Lian’s hair, coming to rest on his shoulder. “It still feels like he’s taken something from you,” Hua Cheng offers quietly, and Xie Lian knows there’s experience backing the words.
Xie Lian nods choppily, then lunges forward to wrap his arms around Hua Cheng and bury his wet face against his shirt. Hua Cheng holds him tight, rubbing firm circles into his back while Xie Lian rides out the sobs that rip through his chest.
Xie Lian shakes his hand out, furrows his brow at the garment as he manages to make the last stitch and finish with a clumsy knot. He stands up and shakes the robe out to full length to examine the red binding he’s sewn onto the hems of his old taoist’s robe. He agreed to let Hua Cheng get the other done professionally, but wanted to do one himself. It won’t ever be the same, but neither will he.
Hua Cheng, who’s been watching with endless patience, sends a couple wraith butterflies crawling across Xie Lian’s fingers to heal the multitude of needle pricks.
Xie Lian can’t deny he’s nervous the first time he wears white again, or the second or the third or... But even after he stops searching ahead for potential problems, the streaks of maple red protect him. There’s no sign of Bai Wu Xiang in his reflection.